


Liaison sans Lendemain

by orphan_account



Category: EastEnders
Genre: Chryed, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 12:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My life, from the moment I saw you, became this...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As I said elsewhere this is a re-imagining of the core Chryed story

 

 

 

 **Liaison sans Lendemain**

 

His excuse _this_ time was that it had been a long time and his neighbour was starting to look really appealing, which was just the biggest no-no of all time, thus his presence here at the least discreet 'bar' he'd ever seen.

Okay, he no longer felt that the entire Muslim world was watching his every movement on closed circuit television, but it was still not normal to just walk into any of those bars and feel like he'd feel walking into a supermarket or a tobacconist and he certainly hadn't perfected the art of the nothing-to-see-here- move-on casualness he recognised in his fellow travellers. The fact that he was even here at all was testament to his absolute desperation. And that _was_ the trouble with sex – once you had good sex you wanted good sex again – and again. The fact that the type of sex you wanted was absolutely forbidden meant that there was a considerable lag time inherent in the instances of those good sex encounters, which, of course seriously ramped up the imperative to _get_ more good sex...

He'd _so_ wanted his sexual encounters to be dreadful – sordid and painful and just dreadful. Unfortunately they'd been anything but and he kept telling himself that he was simply looking for that encounter he knew _must_ come that he trusted would _finally_ make him put this homosexual thing to rest once and for all.

Maybe – fingers crossed – today would be that day.

 

**

He didn't like the fact that the bars were such an overt display of goods for sale with buyers and sellers blatant in their intentions, but it was hard not to get drawn into the atmosphere, knowing from experience, that he could basically pretty much take his pick. It wasn't about _talking_ to him, after all, making friends with him. Okay it would be nice to have someone who wasn’t a complete airhead or too in love with himself, but the truth was most guys fit the bill as far as his intentions went.

He'd got the green light a few times _already_ this evening, but no, still looking...

 

**

The guy was tall – the way he liked – slim and very, very sure of himself. He'd seen Syed looking so basically decided to put himself on display – just for him. He was a good, confident mover, feeling the music, making the rhythm speak for him, inviting Syed in, almost challenging him to say no, but also in some ways challenging him to say 'yes'.

Syed wondered whether he'd want to fuck and whether he'd be willing to bottom for him. He didn't _look_ like a bottom, but was fully aware that you couldn't go by how guys looked or how they appeared. That was the exciting thing about meeting new guys – you just never knew what you'd get once the package was ready to be unwrapped – in private.

 

**

It soon became clear that the guy was teasing him, showing interest but absolutely refusing to make the first move. Okay, he could do this – not like they were ever going to see each other past this one night. He'd make sure to go to the guy's place and leave first thing. He never stayed over – never – rarely even lay down with them afterwards. Just the way it was, just the way he _preferred_ it to be.

He went to the bar, bought two soft drinks and brought them to a table. Making sure to catch the guy's eye he indicated the drinks and asked with a quirk of the eyebrow and a the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

The guy's grin was smug, but also seemed quite genuinely pleased.

Watching him saunter over Syed began to wonder (almost unconsciously) whether it was time for him to be the one getting fucked...

“For me?” He had a very flirtatious look in his eye and close to looked even better than he had on the dance floor.

“Take your pick – thought you might be thirsty.” He watched him pick up and down the orange juice in one. “Wow! You _were_ thirsty.”

Using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth he laughed. “I do like to work up a thirst.” He looked straight into Syed's eyes, smiling still, but just a _little_ serious now, too.

Okay. Well it would have been nice to get to know him a _little_ better, see if they were compatible... Oh who was he kidding? They were compatible. He had yet to be wrong about that (seems like when it came to sexual compatibility he had it nailed) and had simply been waiting for the _right_ sexual partner to make himself known that night.

And oh looked like this one was a top – just as he'd figured he might be. Well that hadn't been what he'd come looking for tonight, but couldn't deny that it wasn't exactly off the menu the way it always had been in the past. “I'm Syed.” Might as well get that out the way at least.

“Chris.”

They nodded and smiled at one another. Syed had learned that shaking hands in these situations simply didn't happen. “I don't have my own place...”

“Well me either – up here for the week. Hotel's pretty close – walking distance actually.”

“A walk would be nice.”

That settled they relaxed and got to know each other – a _little_ better.

 

**

The hotel was indeed within walking distance. More upmarket than he'd expected, but he didn't know why – Chris told him he had quite a lot of disposable income and no real commitments, so it stood to reason that he'd be able to afford a nice hotel for his stay.

The walk was a little tense – both of them undoubtedly projecting a little into the future – but easy, too. They did seem to feel remarkably comfortable in each other's company and though Syed couldn't speak for his companion he simply had no interest in speculating about the Chris who lived _beyond_ this night.

Once this night was over he was quite happy to put this rather inconvenient aspect of his life in the 'done' folder, never to be revisited.

 

**

Well he'd never been picked up and carried before that was for sure. It could be because he'd always gone into the encounters with the understanding that he'd be the one topping and there was, therefore, a different dynamic in operation. The truth? At this point he just didn't really care...

 

**

Chris was big, but for some reason giving him head was easy – Syed even managed to deep-throat him with an ease that both astonished and made him almost glow with pride. But then he was sure he'd never been quite so turned on before. It could have been Chris' body, which was just wow! Or his focused skill or the way he kissed – the first indication (as far as Syed was concerned) that there was a real connection between them - or just some indefinable something that he knew had never been there in any of his previous encounters. Whatever it was he knew that when Chris picked him up in his arms, kissing him like Syed was the air he needed to breathe, then lay him gently down on his front he was more than ready to go there.

**

He hadn't been rimmed before and had done it to a guy only the once. They'd liked it and he'd liked doing it, but it hadn't yet become part of his regular sexual practice.

He hadn't expected it to feel the way it did. How could that feel so _good_? He'd been very aware that the guy he'd rimmed had really, really liked it, but had put that down to the fact that as a bottom he clearly liked having his arse played with and had just expected that it would feel _different_ to someone who preferred to top.

Well, pretty stupid really.

But how _could_ you know until you had someone like Chris with his tongue in your arse, short-circuiting your brain?

No wonder the guy he'd done it to had practically broken his neck trying to sit on his cock afterwards. He wanted Chris inside him so badly, but more of _this_ first. Much much more of this...

“You like it?” Chris sounded hoarse and sexy, thumbs still holding his arse cheeks apart, tongue making lazy circles right where it mattered.

Syed, breathing hard, tried to catch his breath long enough to formulate an answer that consisted of actual words rather than moans and grunts.

“Ready for my fingers?”

 

 

 

**

Chris spent so long getting him ready that in the end Syed yelled at him (wasn't even sure what) pushing him onto his back, centring himself and proceeding to sit – carefully – on the big wet cock, which he felt he now knew so _very_ well. The sensation was incredible. He hadn't even expected it to hurt – he was way too far gone for that – and the brief flare of tightness was expected and strangely welcome.

Chris' hands were gentle on his thighs in searing contrast to the look in his eyes. They made Syed feel like he was on fire, pierced in more than one place. “Feels good,” he breathed.

Chris didn't reply, but stilled Syed's movement and took control of the rhythm, thrusting up into him until he thought his head would explode.

“Don't stop,” Syed pleaded.

And he didn't stop: he fucked him in every position he knew, positions Syed hadn't even tried before, controlling his pleasure, controlling the intensity of the sensations.

The only thing he couldn't control were the sounds Syed made as he was being fucked, sounds he hadn't even been aware he was capable of making...

 

**

When Chris asked him to share the shower and assured him he had a spare toothbrush for the morning Syed didn't hesitate,

He stayed with him that night.

In the morning Chris seduced him into a long slow fuck, the fact that his arse was still aching a little from the night before not able to prevent him giving Chris what he sincerely hoped was the fuck of his life. Seems that Chris was a lot more versatile than _he'd_ been – before that night – topping and bottoming as the mood took him. Pretty fucking accomplished at both, it had to be said.

Syed would definitely not have minded doing this several more times with him and hoped he made that clear. But clear or not Chris gave no indication that he saw anything special in either what they'd done or Syed himself.

After they'd showered he became every courteous, but remarkably cool, offering Syed breakfast but making it clear that he wanted him gone.

So Syed left, trying not to allow his thwarted expectations to mar this experience (which had been incredible) but it had proved quite difficult as the years went by and he never again reached that level of satisfaction with any of the guys he allowed himself to sleep with.

Chris became that creature he'd never believed in until then – 'the one that got away' …

 

**

 

He'd chosen Amira for several reasons, none of which had anything to do with sex or even attraction, but he'd pretty much managed to convince himself that when the time came he'd be able to find it in himself to do his duty – enjoy it even. He'd been so sure that he would hate being fucked but he'd tried it with Chris and had _loved_ it. Sex with Amira – his wife – would be no different.

And whatever he'd done before – with Chris, with other guys – was over. Finit. _Done_.

Just had to keep telling his heart that, his gut that, his cock that, which is why moving to Walford to be with his family was so important. Brand new slate, brand new Syed, brand new life – everything past effectively _erased_.

So when he saw what looked like a _very_ familiar face from his distant past appearing here and there around his new home ground his first reaction was to panic. Chris was gay, had obviously not been one of those men who hid or hid _from_ their sexuality in _any_ way, and it was clear that he was well known on the square for being a gay man, which was a problem – a big one.

Or at least he'd _thought_ it would be, but when they were introduced – he hadn’t expected that he'd be able to avoid it for ever, particularly as his parents seemed to have some type of business relationship with Chris' family (wasn't sure of the details or how Chris was related to these people) – it became clear – really clear – that Chris didn't remember him. At all.


	2. Chapter 2

It didn't seem possible – or sensible – to call him on it, to plaintively _demand_ that he recall a one-night-only encounter years and years ago, but each time Chris – Christian, apparently, not _Christopher_ – looked at him with nothing more than the blandness of forced friendship in his eyes, Syed died a little inside.

 

**

“Call me paranoid, but I don't think your mum likes me very much.” Chris – Christian – was wiping a vigorous cloth over the counter. He liked cleaning, Syed had noticed this before. Very neat, very meticulous in everything he did. Syed couldn't help recalling the way he'd been in bed – meticulous, yes, but not neat, not careful, definitely not so fenced in as he seemed to be as this Christian person...

“My mum doesn't really like anyone. I wouldn't worry about it too much. Finished?”

“In a minute.” He scrubbed at a spot that to Syed's eye appeared to be as clean as the rest of the counter. “You know I'm gay, right?”

Syed peered at him, taken aback by this unexpected statement. “Er, yeah, I think so, yeah.”

“Well I just wondered if that's why, that it's do with that.” He glanced over his shoulder at Syed, the expression in his eye speculative, but no more than that.

What was he getting at? “Our religion...forbids it.” And that made him sound like a complete hypocrite, but Christian merely nodded, much as if Syed's answer had confirmed something for him.

“Not much for religion, myself.”

Syed didn't respond to that – what could he say?

“Still, not trying to offend anyone, but not going to apologise for whom I am, either.” Now his look was much more readable – slightly combative, inviting him – _daring_ him? - to put forth a counter argument.

“No, of course not, but no need to rub it in anyone's face either.”

Christian looked steadily at him for a minute before turning away. “I do believe that the Queen herself would be content to eat her Sunday lunch off that now.”

Syed laughed. “Sure, I can quite easily imagine her doing just that.”

Christian laughed too. “Can you picture it? Your mum telling the Queen to shut up and eat her curry – chilli is _good_ for you!” He did a passable imitation of Syed's mum here, which gave Syed the tiniest pang of guilt since he found himself genuinely laughing in response.

“Oh god, don't ever let her hear you suggest inviting the Queen to lunch. Knowing my mum it'd set off ideas in her head and she'd not rest until they became a reality!”

Christian grinned. “Quite the determined character, your mum.”

“Yeah, she is.” They were silent for a little while – a comfortable silence, unmarred by his incessant search for even the tiniest sign that Christian had remembered their night together. They got on well, but that didn't really say much – he wasn't aware of anyone with whom Christian _didn't_ get on – and the tension came wholly from his side, so it was a relief to imagine that there might soon come a day when they'd just _genuinely_ be friends.

“Amira really likes you.” He didn't know why he'd said that, just to make conversation he supposed and okay, because it kinda bugged him too. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it seemed to him that the guy - the _only_ guy - connected to his secret life, and his fiancée really, really shouldn't be mates. 

Christian shrugged and Syed noticed again the way the muscles in his arms rippled. He had put on a little more muscle in the few years since they'd met and Syed couldn't help speculating about how that might translate to the bedroom. He'd been bloody strong before. Now... “She's a great girl,” was all he had to say on that subject and sensing that he wasn't keen, Syed decided to let it slide. Didn't know what he'd hoped for anyway, not like he could forbid either of them to be friends, or forbid Christian to tell Amira about their past. Oh right – Christian didn't _remember_ that he and Syed had a past that he had to be prevented from relaying to all and sundry. Syed had obviously been swallowed up in the frothing, white-flecked sea of faceless encounters that apparently constituted this guy's past. 

But that was no business of _his_...

“I was wondering if you and Jane – and Ian, too, I suppose – are definitely coming tonight.” He knew they were, but no point in _not_ banging that drum once more.

“Oh, Syed, mate, no, sorry. Something's come up and I can't get out of it. I did mean to tell you, sorry.” He looked contrite, but Syed knew he was lying. He hadn't planned to tell him at all, would simply fail to turn up then make his excuses later. And they were excuses. This he knew for sure.

“Something serious?”

“Not serious, exactly, just an obligation, if you like. Can't get out of it, sorry.” the expression in his eye said 'I'm not gonna budge, so you can make this hard or easy – your choice.'

Syed stared at him for longer than he knew was socially acceptable, actually contemplating _making_ it hard, really bloody hard, but then recalled the resolution he'd only just that minute made; the one about them being friends, allowing Christian to forget him and it being okay. “Well I'm sorry you won't be there, but I understand when you can't get out of your obligations.” He forced a smile. He was seething inside, but also had the sense to know that he was being utterly unreasonable...

“Yeah, it's a pain, isn't it? But you do what you have to do, right?”

Syed felt like the smile was going to do him actual physical harm it felt so tight and stretched. “No matter. Have a good time.”

Christian gave him a look, but didn’t follow it up in the way Syed had expected. Removing his apron and hat he merely said. “Hope it goes well tonight. I'll be drinking your health, believe me.”

“Thanks,” he said, the smile allowing him to say nothing else.

Christian was kind enough to give him a little wave from the door, just before it closed behind him.

Once he was sure he was alone Syed turned, looked around for something breakable and when nothing immediately sprang out at him went to the sink and turned the taps on full, allowing the water to splash his face his hair, drench his sleeves and hands.

What the hell was he going to do? He'd thought he could cope – _was_ coping – but that had been very much attendant on Christian _being_ there, on knowing that he'd see him every day at work, and that on the big social occasions he's see him too – that Christian would put Syed's social calendar above his own and somehow know, just _know_ how much Syed needed him to be there. Well more fool him. But why the _heck_ was he still fooling himself about this? He'd elevated Chris to some elusive, perfect lover over the years and the reality was obviously going to be quite different. It was just that now he'd met the real Christian he wanted _him_ even more than the fantasy lover! And talking himself down from that, trying to pretend it wasn't what it was, was really fucking hard, because the fact that Christian didn't remember him wasn't even an issue, just another thing he was using to build a wall between himself and the attainment of his desire. He knew damn well that had he wanted it he could have developed a romantic relationship with Christian, _regardless_ of whether or not he'd been relegated to the faceless mass of one-night encounters in Christian's past. It wasn't down to Christian, it was all him – all of it.

But he hadn't _known_ he'd be given this second chance, hadn't realised just how much he would actually want the guy; how much the _reality_ trumped the fantasy.

He was on a train and the train was hurtling inexorably towards its destination. How the hell could anyone expect him to be strong enough, determined enough, courageous enough to make it stop?

 

 

**

 

Well, even though he'd told Christian that his mother didn't really like anyone much (save her own immediate family) there were some people she liked rather less than others: Amira for one, Christian for another. He couldn't really understand her dislike of Amira – his fiancée, future wife! Yes, Amira was quite strong-willed and no, his mum didn't really appreciate anyone standing up to her, but still, no reason to be so hostile. Sure she _pretended_ civility, but he knew her, knew exactly what she was thinking behind that mask of politeness. True, she no longer told him to his _face_ exactly what she felt was wrong with his fiancée, but that didn't mean she'd changed her mind about Amira, and that was a damn shame, because he'd chosen her, she was his _choice_ , and he was _sticking_ with her, despite his mum, despite anyone. Did she really think, in her heart of hearts, that _she_ could do better than Amira? He was not interested in some uneducated, submissive little girl from a village in Pakistan. He honestly could not _believe_ some of the stuff she was coming up with. Her arguments made absolutely no sense to him, made even less sense given who she was, given how absolutely lacking in submissiveness _she_ was! What, she didn't think he'd _want_ someone interesting, strong-minded – someone utterly her own person? He had no doubt that had his wife been the type of wife his mum apparently wanted him to have then she'd have made the poor girl's life a living hell. And no, not going to put her through that for anything. _They_ could handle her – mostly – but no way was he going to allow anyone he cared about to be bullied and intimated by his mum!

 

And yeah she had some really unkind things to say about Christian too – not just because she saw him as a Beale, but also because he was gay and not hiding away in shame over it. As she kept saying to them: “It is not because of what he does, which is disgusting and sickening, of course, but because he is flaunting it, flaunting his shame for all to see and making it seem like we – decent moral people – are the ones who are wrong. I will not put up with it. I will not pretend I think I'm wrong for being disgusted by the things he does!” And so on. Hearing her speak like this, with so much venom aimed at Christian simply for his sexuality, made him feel sick inside, because he knew she was right, but also felt that she was wrong for being so inflexible in her judgement. Yes, homosexuality was haraam, but Islam was all about condemning the _sin_ rather than the sinner and the impression _he_ got was that she was far too intent on aiming her vitriol square at the sinner for committing the sin in the first place – no room for either forgiveness or understanding.

His parents were good people, good Muslims, but he would never accuse them of being the most forgiving or understanding on Earth. His dad was still a little twitchy with regard to the several, admittedly large transgressions he'd made against the family, and his mum had only forgiven him because it hadn't hurt her the way it had hurt his dad. He had no real doubt that had he done something she'd personally found unforgivable then he would _still_ be wandering in the wilderness.

He didn't doubt that they loved him, but no longer took their forgiveness for granted. Perhaps that was just part of growing up, though, realising that your parents couldn’t always put your interests before theirs, that sometimes their moral code trumped any forgiveness you felt they, as loving parents, owed you as their beloved child.

He knew that they would not forgive him for the things he'd done that they knew _nothing_ about, was determined to ensure that they never did find out about them.

The trouble with all this, of course, was Christian. 

Having made the decision to be a good son as a way of thanking his parents for allowing him back into the fold, (which obviously, therefore, meant no more trawling clubs every half a year when the desire simply became too much to contain, putting _all_ of that behind him, settling down and becoming a happily married heterosexual – with kids) then getting over Christian became paramount. He was just honest enough to admit that doing so wasn't proving anywhere near as easy as he'd hoped. He could talk himself down, try to talk himself round, until he was bright blue in the face, but the fact was, Christian's presence in the Square, in his workplace, in his life _was_ a problem.

One good thing - if one were looking for really small mercies - was that the problem would have been compounded had Christian actually recalled their night of love those years before, so really and truly, rather than wishing and wishing that Christian would all of a sudden remember him and their intense lovemaking with the fondness he did, he had to cut himself off from _that_ aspect of their relationship and concentrate instead on the parts that were more conducive to his well-being – friendship, friendship with no possibility of there _ever_ being more.

If he could just stop ...desiring... him then wouldn't that make his life that much easier? 

Christian didn't fancy _him_ , that much was clear, and rather than picking at that scab, wouldn't it make _more_ sense to simply let it go, accept that whatever had happened between them before was past, had meant everything to him and nothing to Christian, and then actually bloody forgive him for that? So long as he resented Christian for this, the urge to bring it up, make him remember was like a big black boulder standing in the way of them actually being real friends.

If he could put it behind him, then the desire would also lose strength, for a huge part of this was that he was conflating that night with the things he was discovering about Christian presently and this effectively worked to make Syed want him more.

Perhaps if he could just start to see Christian outside the fantastical magical aura of that one night then he'd be able to get it all into some kind of perspective, and maybe find that he wasn’t so irresistible, after all.

It was just hard to see how he was going to be able to manage that any time soon.

 

**

 

“Have a good time?”

Christian was efficient and for a fairly large guy, pretty delicate in his movements. Syed really enjoyed watching him move around the kitchen: washing up; stirring sauces, chopping veg. He was chopping veg now, humming contentedly under his breath, stopping only when Syed broke the comfortable silence that had fallen between them. “Sorry?” He seemed a little distracted, as far away as he'd been 15 minutes earlier when he'd come running in, all apologies for his late arrival. Syed, having been anticipating what he'd say to him oh so casually, had begun to fear he'd decided to take the day off, or worse, was still stuck wherever he'd been that weekend, and had begun to let his mood drop until even his mum had noticed...

“The party? Did you have a good time?”

Syed could think of absolutely _no_ reason why Christian would have trouble answering such an innocuous question, but judging from the way Christian stared at him, thought long and hard before then turning away and saying, “Yeah, was good,” it was, apparently, none of his _business_ whether or not Christian had had a good time.

Now, Syed prided himself on being no slouch when it came to reading people, but even the dimmest, most lacking in perception, as sensitive-as-a-block-of-wood blokey bloke would be able to detect that he'd just been told in no uncertain terms to 'mind it!'.

Well! Fine, then.

No, actually, he wouldn't _mind_ if he'd given Christian any sign, any hint at _all_ that he was interested in his love-life, that he was in the habit of being nosy, especially about Christian's private affairs, but he hadn't, had been pretty fucking careful, actually, about that. So what bloody right did he have to be so huffy, so...dismissive?

“Mine was pretty good, too.”

“Yeah?” He still had the knife in his hand, which probably occurred to him pretty much the same time it dawned on Syed, and with an elegant little gesture turned to resume his task.

Syed needed to find something to do with his hands. 

He was quite pissed off and knew that occupying himself with a task that required a significant amount of his attention was exactly what was needed right then. Trouble was when he'd been worrying about Christian, worrying that he might not turn up he'd sort of occupied himself with those tasks, which was good, of course, as it meant that they were done, but also bad as it meant that now when he really needed a distraction there were none to be had...

“I bet Amira looked radiant.” He was smiling slightly to himself - a polite, social smile, Syed felt.

“She did, actually.” Syed leaned against the worktop next to him. “I'm a really lucky guy.”

Their eyes briefly met. 

Christian broke the stare. “Yes, yes you are.”

The silence between them was horrible: tense and sort of angry, but the sort of anger that never actually comes out because you're too chicken to go there. He felt that he did that a lot – with his mum, with his dad, with Amira and now Christian. “You ever thought about it?”

“What?” He was chopping the veg too fine. That was the only way Syed could tell he was agitated.

“Getting married.” When Christian gave him a look, he quickly amended. “I mean, you know, Civil Partnership or something.”

A shrug, which again, as far as Syed was concerned was pretty much shouting: 'mind it!' “Not my scene.”

“Oh. Really?”

Another look. “Yeah. Really. Not all of us are the marrying kind.”

“But-” He broke off as their eyes met.

“Look, Syed, I know it's important to you; perhaps personally too, but I certainly know it's important to you in terms of your faith, so I don't really _expect_ you to understand. The thing is I'm not ready to settle down with anyone – it honestly isn't what I'm looking for right now.” To Syed's possibly biased eye, he seemed unusually solemn. “I know our values are different, but I really hope that's not gonna get in the way of us being friends.”

Syed knew that his reaction was way over the top, but couldn't help himself. It was only later that he had cause to seriously wonder whether, at that point, he'd actually been rather expertly manipulated.

“Oh, no, no, it won't. It doesn't matter to me that we're different, it really doesn’t. I value our friendship, I really do and I don't want anything to get in the way of that.” He was honestly astonished that he wasn't cravenly clutching at Christian's sleeve, begging him, on his knees _beseeching_ him...

Smiling, Christian casually bumped shoulders with him. “Good. I feel the same.”

Syed spent most of the next 4 hours berating himself for reading way more into that than had been meant, but knew, all the same, that that night would be spent going over and over their entire interaction that day and mining it for every tiny nugget that might turn out to be gold...

 

**Amira wanted to move out of the Square as soon as they were married, and made no bones about her dissatisfaction with his current circumstances. He didn't like being nagged, but at the same time had deliberately, _consciously_ chosen her because of her ambition, because of her desire to live a successful life. 

His mother was very like Amira, which probably explained their mutual antipathy. Amira was bright enough to know not to let on that she didn't like his mum, but since he knew her pretty well also knew just how carefully she was hiding her dislike. Well it wasn't ideal – he'd have much preferred that they like each other, recognise how much they had in common and form an alliance – but they would all have to make the best of it since there was no way he was going to cut ties with either his family or his wife. They would all simply have to learn to get along.

And speaking of weddings...

He was actively _dreading_ his wedding day: his mum, nobly putting aside her disapproval of his choice of bride, seemed intent on making up for her disapproval by going completely fucking _crazy_ in a way that he was sure would end up bankrupting them for several lifetimes to come. When he'd tried to talk to his dad, try to get him to talk her out of her wilder ideas he'd drawn a blank. He could see that his dad was stressed, as worried about the lavish spending as he was, but his dad, well his dad really _wasn't_ the alpha in his parents' relationship. His mum was the ambitious one, the one who used her intelligence to get her own way – in business, at home. His dad seemed pretty content to assert his authority only when required, to take the backseat in most things, and since that's the way it had always been, Syed wasn't exactly surprised that he wasn't prepared to talk her down. He saw his dad as a mild guy, not particularly ambitious, more interested in being a good dad than a successful businessman and Syed had long concluded that he'd probably do almost _anything_ for a quiet life.

His reaction to Syed's fraudulent activities had been something of a shock, serving as a forceful reminder that he maybe really didn't know his parents as well as he _though_ t he did.

Syed was pretty sure that that one mistake had pretty much forever soured the relationship he had with his dad.

The thing was, he had always counted on being forgiven; always assumed the forgiveness, when it came, would be more than skin-deep, yet it was becoming clear to him that his father would never _completely_ forgive him and certainly wouldn't ever _trust_ him again. Seemed that once you'd committed a sin you were forever tainted, no matter what was said, what pretty words were spouted with regard to forgiving and forgetting. Forgiving? Hmm, perhaps – in time. Forgetting? Not likely. He knew that his transgressions would be forever held against him, brought to mind whenever he did anything wrong in the future.

This was not a nice place in which to find one's self – felt like you were going to be walking on eggshells for the rest of your life, one careless, inattentive moment liable to prove disastrous.

Yet, he sort of _wanted_ to be punished, wanted to feel that his sins _could_ be washed away in the scalding heat of condemnation. 

He never admitted to himself that the sins he wanted burned away had very little to do with the theft, were of a different nature entirely.

 

**

 

“I do, but he's overseas right now. Not sure he'll be able to get away.”

Amira drank cranberry juice, something she claimed she'd become addicted to when she'd been really ill some years before. Having tried it – at her urging – he secretly entertained the thought that it was probably the cranberry juice that had contributed to the illness, that she was confusing the cause with the cure! It was _rank_!

“Mum and dad really want to meet him.”

She took another delicate little sip, and it occurred to him that she was playing for time. She rarely spoke of her dad and he hadn't really seen that as suspicious – until now. What was she hiding? “I know. He does too, but when it comes to business...” When she saw his face she quickly amended her statement. “I mean I'm his only child and obviously he really wants to give me away, but this deal he's negotiating is really, really important – once-in-a-lifetime sort of thing.”

“Well so's his daughter's wedding.” Although he said this lightly, with a smile on his face, he hoped she'd be able to sense that he was less than impressed with her explanations. Any father worth his salt would move heaven and earth to be at his daughter's wedding. How did _any_ sort of business deal take precedence over that?

“I know.” She touched his hand in what he couldn’t help feeling was a plea to let it go for now, but what she _said_ was: “I'll talk to him, try to see if he can't move things around a bit. I'm sure he'll be able to make it.”

Well he wasn't entirely convinced, but what more could he say? Squeezing her hand he smiled and nodded in silent acknowledgement of _her_ silent plea. “Great. Can't wait to meet him.”

She gave a little laugh and Syed started to say something, but Christian walked through the doors with his sister then, and he found himself stumbling over his words...

 

**

Christian caught his eye, smiled and nodded, which, for some reason, made him go warm all up his neck, ears and face – blushing like a timid, love-sick kid, wondering at himself, wondering why he couldn't seem to get it together when it came to this particular guy. He'd had no trouble controlling his reactions around the other guys he'd found attractive – a matter of self-preservation, his instincts had been sure, on full alert, working at their optimal level. Not so with Christian: Syed felt that he had to constantly remind himself, constantly rein himself in, _tell_ himself that no, this wasn't something he was actually _allowed_ to have; that having this came with a really high price tag, one he most assuredly could not afford. And yet, and yet...

“Not sure Jane likes me, much.”

He forced his attention to Amira, who was looking a little sulky, it had to be said. “Sorry?”

“Well there are some women like that, aren't there? They don't trust other women, especially around their brothers.”

Syed didn't roll his eyes, but the urge was near overwhelming. “Er, he's gay? She hardly sees you as having designs on him.”

“Well I know that, but- Oh you're a bloke, you wouldn't understand.” She was grinning at him, an obvious invitation to flirt and 'fight', and he was up for that, only...

“Yeah. But why do you like him so much? I honestly wouldn't have thought – I mean, he's _gay._ ”

She laughed and this time her expression held a trace of mockery. “Because it's haraam? Such a great big sin being gay?” Now _she_ rolled her eyes and took another sip of that foul juice, not even making a moue of distaste as she tasted it.

“Well, it is. Doesn't matter how much you like him, he's still...Well it's not allowed, is it?”

She shrugged, her eyes on Christian. “Is this something we're going to fight about, Syed? Me being friends with Christian? Because I won't let you tell me who my friends are, even after we're married.”

Syed was shocked that she could think that he'd even consider doing such a thing. “What? Of course I wouldn't do that. What do you take me for? Look, Amira, my mum – have you met her? Do you think my dad tells her what to do? I'm not marrying you because I want to control you or decide what you can and can't do, say or think. Is that what you think this is about?”

Her demeanour became ultra concilatory as she placed her hand gently on his. “No, I know. Sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like that. I just don't want us to fall out over the religion thing.”

The religion thing. Okay. He pretty much knew she wasn't exactly devout, but expected that she'd at least respect the important traditions. “Well we won't. I just wanted to understand why Christian being gay didn't bother you.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “Why? Does it bother _you_? You work with him all day. It bothers you that he's gay?” She sounded sort of shocked and to his mind, a little judgemental too, as though he was in the process of plummeting in her estimation...

“It doesn't, but I know it's an issue for my parents.”

“Well it'd be an issue for my dad, too, but they're the older generation – what did you expect? Isn't that why we're moving away from Walford, Syed? I mean don't get me wrong, I'm all for the extended family thing, but not for them to be bloody influencing our lives in the way they see fit, all day every day.” She was looking expectantly at him, so...

He kissed her on the cheek, smiled and agreed. 

The truth was that he _sort_ of agreed, but sort of didn't at the same time. But hey, there'd be time to sort all that out later. Right now, he wanted to enjoy himself, leave all the boring, mundane stuff for another day. “Shall we invite them over?”

“Okay, but can we sort of not invite Jane?”

Well, no, didn't see how they could without being unforgivably rude. Besides he liked her (despite the fact that she was married to Ian Beale) plus she was Christian's sister, which made him like her just that little bit more. “Well maybe she won't stay,” he compromised and before Amira could answer called out. “Jane, Christian,” and watched with a smile as they made their way over.

He made a point of watching Jane as she greeted them and no, couldn't see anything amiss in the way she greeted Amira. But, as Amira said, he was a bloke and as such presumably at something of a disadvantage when it came to that sort of thing.

He tensed as he watched Christian greet Amira with a kiss, wondering what sort of greeting he'd get. Was somewhat disappointed when all he got was a closed mouth smile and Christian eschewing the opportunity to sit next to him, preferring, it seemed, to sit between Amira and Jane, Syed several arm lengths away...

“Oh you're not drinking that dreck again, are you?” Christian looked like _he_ had when he'd initially tasted cranberry juice. 

“I'm surprised, Christian – for someone so health-conscious you have some surprisingly bad habits.” She was flirting! Full-on flirting with him. He suspected that she'd always done so, only now it was _obvious,_ and kind of rubbed him up the wrong way, he realised.

“Well that depends, doesn't it? You have to indulge sometimes, don't you? Otherwise being healthy would be just a little pointless.” He was flirting right back and this bothered Syed just as much.

No, he really, really didn't like this relationship. At all.

Much as if she'd leaned over and whispered in his ear he was suddenly made aware that Jane felt the same. She was sipping her drink, simply watching the two of them, a neutral expression on her face, but Syed knew all of a sudden that Amira had been right – she really didn't like her, or at least the relationship she'd forged with Christian. Interesting.

“You've tried it then?”

They all turned to look at him, but he'd been addressing Christian so _his_ attention was on him. Christian gave Syed a very, very subtle once over, which made him practically start vibrating where he sat, but then switched it all off the next minute as he laughed. “I'm guessing you're talking about the puke juice,” He waved a dismissive hand toward Amira's glass.

Syed grinned. “Great description.”

“Oi!” She reminded Syed of a cat, practically purring with the pleasure of their focused attention. “It's an acquired taste, but there's nothing _wrong_ with it.”

“True, things that are good for you often taste like shit.” Christian illustrated this truism by adopting an expression reminiscent of someone who'd just bitten into a very sour lemon.

There was a general murmur of agreement at this, even Amira unable to demur.

“And the things that are supposed to be bad taste bloody fantastic!”

“Oh come on, when have you ever indulged in anything bad?” 

He couldn't quite tell if Christian was being serious or not... “Well...cakes and stuff. I love chocolate-”

“Look at you, you're thin as a rail,” Jane protested. “So unfair, I've only to look at a picture of a cream cake in a magazine and I put on a stone.”

“I love chocolate too,” Amira piped up. “I just have to be extra, extra careful after I eat any.”

“Oh come on, you've never put on extra weight in your life!” Jane told her.

There was another general murmur of agreement. Amira shook her head in dissent. “Oh you don't know. I have to work really hard. Too much curry, not enough exercise and believe me, I know about it. No, honestly, I used to be sort of tubby as a kid.”

He didn't need to actually meet the others' eyes to know what they'd be thinking. Feeling like an indulgent husband (and forcibly thrusting all comparisons with his dad to one side) he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “And I bet you were just as beautiful then as you are now.”

“Hear, hear,” Christian agreed, raising his glass in a theatrical toast to her. 

Syed caught a look on Jane's face that while he couldn't quite interpret, couldn't help admitting probably added ammunition to Amira's certainty that Jane wasn't her biggest fan. But he had noticed - however vaguely up to this point - that Amira didn't seem to get on well with many women. In fact, there was no real evidence that, outside of Christian himself, Amira had any friends in the Square at all. Truth was that since he'd known her he couldn't honestly say that she'd ever had an overabundance of friends. But he was the same, probably one of the reasons they'd gravitated toward each other in the first place: both of them seeming to share the same values, recognising in the other a kindred spirit, willing to further explore their shared values in long-term partnership.

Now, Christian on the other hand... Well he was the polar opposite, wasn't he? A social butterfly if ever there was one, he seemed to regard forming friendships, making people like him as some type of Olympic event, his intent clearly being to eventually be crowned the undisputed champion of the world. Syed couldn't help but wonder just how special friendships actually _were_ in Christian's world: maybe he saw the fact of being friends completely differently to Syed... Probably did...  Not that it mattered, really: it was already clear that Christian saw their relationship differently, that he didn't care for Syed the way Syed cared for him. And that was alright. No, it was. All he _needed_ was his friendship, and that he had, regardless of whether or not it meant as much to Christian as it did to him.

“So, the wedding plans coming on ok?” Jane was addressing him, the expression on her face friendly, interested. He'd always got the impression that while she didn't exactly get on with his mum – neutral with his dad – she liked him well enough, able to separate him from his family long enough to actually see him for who he was, outside of being a Masood. He wished that he could do that for her as easily, but no, he really didn't like Ian Beale and knew that he would have liked her _more_ were she _not_ his wife. 

He pretty much liked her unreservedly in her status as Christian's sister.

“Well, mum's in charge pretty much, but from my end, yeah, they're coming along nicely.” He shared a smile with Amira, briefly catching Christian's eye, as he did so. Christian had obviously been staring at him, and when their eyes met didn't look away, didn’t smile, the blue of his eyes intense, burning.

Syed felt his stomach do a slow flip. And hated himself for it.


End file.
